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Her head hurt. A lot. Her mouth felt dry and sticky. She moaned when the headache hit, an intense throbbing that hurt like hell. This felt like a hangover to end all hangovers, but she couldn't even remember the drinking! What was going on?

Muddled memories forced their way to the surface. Spike and Will…that weird woman, some tall dude with weird eyes. Then nothing. Buffy wrenched her eyes open…and started panicking.

She couldn’t see! She was blind! What was happening? She put her hand right in front of her eyes, the heel of her hand brushing against her nose. Nothing. She touched her face and ran her hands down her body. She was fine, except that her eyes were open and she couldn’t see anything.

It took all of the will and control she had to calm down. She needed to think rationally, not to panic. She went through a series of meditations, focusing her energy just like she would before a big fight. It took her longer than usual, because every time she’d brush away one thought, a new one would take it place. With gritted teeth and an iron will, Buffy seized her fear and beat it down.

Alright, the first thing she needed to know was where she was, what the room was like, if there was any way out.

She cautiously felt the floor around her, her hands questing in the darkness. It was rough and uneven, like it had been badly constructed out of shoddy cement. She crawled forwards, her hands moving until she ran into a wall. OK, good. She stood slowly, her hands braced against the rough hewn bricks, ignoring the nausea movement caused. She couldn't feel the top of the wall, and the bricks were cool to the touch. She moved to her right, facing the wall to thr and give her some sort of point of orientation.

Two walls, and no change, but the room appeared to be square. She was bound to hit a door or something on one of the walls.

Bingo. Buffy felt the outline of a door on the third wall. It was small, and no light leaked through the small cracks she could feel. There wasn’t a handle either. Not on this side, at least. Buffy felt her hopes sink. Whoever had done this was prepared. The room itself was small, barely longer than three arm’s lengths. Finishing her lap of the cell, she knocked over a plastic pot in one corner, and shuddered at the implications.

God, who was doing this? And why?

She fought down the new panic and fear, sliding down the wall and hugging her invisible legs. Why was she scared? Panicking was stupid, dumb, and futile. Spike and Will would come for her. They would realize she was missing and call the police, and together, they would figure out who took her and save her. There was technology for that; cameras on the street, witnesses…someone had to have seen something. All she had to do was wait and have faith. Faith that someone, somewhere, would save her.

***

Time had no meaning anymore. She was starving, her stomach clenching rebelliously. The room smelled horrible, the stench rising from the pot in the corner permeating the small room. She shuddered, wondering if these people had only kidnapped her to starve her to death. Tears sprang into her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t give whoever they were the satisfaction of seeing her cry or knowing her fear.

Buffy stared into the darkness, conjuring up vivid images of her friends to try and ground herself. She thought she caught a whiff of something sweet before she fell asleep.

***

Buffy groaned. Her head felt stuffy, like waking up after taking Tylenol PM or Nyquil. She stretched out, and heard a metallic scraping sound. She felt towards the sound, and found an aluminum plate with some bread and a mixture of sad vegetables. Buffy ate ravenously. She had no idea how long they’d kept her here, but this was the first time she’d been fed. She cleaned her plate, and searched the area around her. Sure enough, she found a small, plastic cup of water, the kind small children use so they don’t spill everywhere. She greedily gulped the water down, her dry throat eager for the moisture.

The small plastic cup fell harmlessly on the floor, Buffy already deeply asleep by the time it stopped moving.

***

Buffy woke up abruptly, disoriented and confused. She’d fallen asleep again, but she felt strangely un-rested. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. A new, foreign scent hung on the air. Buffy sniffed deeply, trying to identify the smell.

She felt around the small cell and encountered another plate. She wasn’t exactly hungry, but after the last time, she wasn’t going to pass up food. She drank her water, and set into the bland food. It was some kind of porridge-like mush and bread. Her earlier hunger had made the meager fare taste like a grand feast, but this was…repulsive.

When she was done, she sat back and closed her eyes. One hot tear leaked out as she realized she had no idea how long she’d been locked in the darkness. Her sense of time was completely out of whack.

Trying to think rationally and objectively, she’d been there long enough to be painfully hungry. She’d been given two meals, which should have said something, except she’d been sleeping a lot. The problem was she had no idea how long she’d been asleep.

Judging by how she felt when she woke up, Buffy was pretty sure these people were drugging her. And no always by her food, because she was pretty lucid right now. Except how long had it been since she’d eaten? She had no reference, no way to tell the passage of time.

Buffy briefly smelt that same sickly sweetness before her head fell gently onto her chest.

***

There was no food when she woke up this time, but it appeared that someone had changed the bucket, though all she had to go one was smell. She got up and paced along one side of the wall. Seven steps there, seven steps back, over and over, trying to find an outlet for her nerves. Questions flew through her brain, doubts and fears assaulting her…and she had nothing to distract herself with.

Why were they doing this to her? What was the point? Why had the singled her out? Where were Will and Spike? What were they think, doing right now? Would they think she had abandoned them?

The vivid image of Spike and Will deciding she had left them played out in her mind. They would be mad for a while. They’d try to track her down, calling up her friends, demanding to know where she’d gone so they could talk to her. But her friends would shake their heads and say no, they didn’t know where Buffy was. Will and Spike wouldn’t believe them, of course, but they wouldn’t have a choice. There was nothing they could do. They’d be hurt, but her Twinlets were strong. They’d heal, move on, live their lives. Find someone else to share it with. And she’d be left here, alone in the darkness.

Buffy started crying, the strength of the images too much. What if that’s what happened? Or worse…if they couldn’t find her and just gave up? Her emotions bubbled and rose up, feeding on themselves, until a scream ripped from her throat. It was completely raw and left Buffy’s throat soar.

She collapsed on herself, crying until she had no more tears to shed and falling into an exhausted sleep.

***

Her eyes were puffy from crying and her nose was stopped up. She was sure she looked pretty scary, but who cared when you were in complete darkness with no one else around? She laughed without humor, shaking her head. She ran a hand through the limp, dirty tresses that had once been so bright and beautiful. Spike and Will had loved her hair. But they weren’t here now. Probably hadn’t even noticed she was gone.

A part of her rose up and rebelled at that thought. NO. They loved her! Right now, they were marshalling the troops, trying to find her, bring her home. She just needed to remember. Remember them, remember herself, remember that there were people who were looking for her. She glared into the darkness, her face contorted in anger. She could feel her muscles straining.

“WHO ARE YOU?” she yelled, standing on unsteady legs. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!”

Silence in the darkness met her challenges. She heard nothing, even when pressing her ear against the wall with the door’s outline. Anger and frustration building in her, Buffy punched the wall. The shock of pain was a welcome change, so Buffy did it again…and again…and again. She could feel blood on her knuckles, but she didn’t care. She pounded the wall, her fury increasing with every punch, until something seemed to break. Buffy collapse on her knees, hot tears streaming down her face.

“Why? Why? What did I do? Please…please…” She sobbed into the dirty floor.

Silently, vents seated high above Buffy’s head opened, and a sleeping gas flowed into the room, carrying with it a sickly sweet scent.

A/N: Let me know what you think of the plot attack. And don't hate me too much...





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